


This is My Rifle, This is My Gun

by catc10



Category: Team Fortress 2, The Losers (2010)
Genre: M/M, Outdoor Sex, gun!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:39:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catc10/pseuds/catc10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A WHILE BACK I WROTE *ONE THING* FOR THE LOSERS KINK MEME. THIS IS IT.<br/>Prompt/Fill: http://thelosers-kink.livejournal.com/409.html?thread=264857#t264857</p>
<p>In which Cougar Alvarez meets the RED Sniper and they admire each other's guns. Oh, and their rifles are there, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is My Rifle, This is My Gun

Cougar spotted the man through his scope, first. The officially non-existent Black Ops , known only as “The Losers”, were on assignment to a goddamn Jungle in the Congo. Clay had them cracking into some secure facility headed up by Reliable Excavation and Demolition, which rather pathetically acronymed itself to RED, which seemed to be a running monochrome color scheme that pervaded every nook and cranny of the building Cougar was currently observing and Clay and Roque were sneaking through as unobtrusively as possible. Which was pretty damn near undetectable, though it wouldn’t fool a cat, as Cougar himself might

Jensen had cased the place over an unprecedented six days of hard hacking work in nothing more than a thong (“It’s too damned hot even for _boxers_ , Clay!”) and fueled by water filtered by Pooch through sand and boiled twice and the MREs that Clay and Cougar could spoon-feed him through his hacking-dream-haze. What had come up was beyond fishy business and smelling like downright dirty laundry –the sort The Losers usually wore after one of their more…adventurous missions. Once Jensen had finished organizing the information into recognizable, digestible material he’d all but collapsed into his tent, for all the world a corpse.

Some corporation called Imperial Mining had been traced to illegal exportation of natural gas in US controlled territory, which was stringy legality at best, according to the blond head case that conducted their research. However, during the software sneaking, the operation was revealed to be a dummy to the bigger, badder, R.E.D., whose motivations –worse, whose full scope of reign wasn’t entirely clear even to Jensen—were unknown. What was made abundantly clear was the massive power horse of war the company was set up to be, Black Operations wet dreams on crack.

Though Imperial Mining only appeared to be trafficking natural gas, under the table it was a hot point for massive ordinance containment and shipping, as well as what Jensen could only decipher to be a human slavery ring, men bought into Reliable Excavation and Demolition –and never returned once sent to one of any secured locations Jensen couldn’t find locations for. Clay and Roque had gone in to find hard copies of the files, their leader still hopeful to find a few men alive to bring home. Pooch was watching over Jensen back at base camp, and Cougar was scoping windows and roofs to catch sight of his CO and XO while the team was running on radio silence.

The Hispanic man was jittery (for him) with nerves, his scope trailing lazily from point to point over the enemy complex, his breathing labored in the high canopy of a massive tree with big leafy greenery hiding him from view.

Or so he thought.

Cougar’s scope froze as it encountered human life for the first time in over two hours, and though the man wasn’t one of his team, he _was_ looking directly at him.

Through his own sniper scope.

_Mierda._

Cougar’s index twitched, restrained only by the small possibility that this enemy sniper was only looking the long-haired-man’s way by chance. Automatically, Cougar sized up his prey during the moment of stillness.

Tall, drawn face with the shadow of beard sticking to his jaw. Red shirt, probably uniform, flak jacket of unknown make holstered with extra ammunition, stupid looking pointed toe boots. _Su sombrero es sexy, hombre._ That was a sexy hat.

Cougar watched the man peel an eye from his scope, he was wearing aviator shades and bell bottoms –fashion _flashback_ , and, still looking at Cougar, tipped his hat.

_Hijo de puta me ve!_ Cougar steadied himself to ready a shot, still loose as his extensive training had instilled in him, but growing further on edge as the other, _el hombre misterioso_ , slowly smirks at him, and sits up away from his scope, leaving his rifle braced steadily on the low wall and sitting himself on the roof more comfortably.

Clay and Roque all but forgotten in the back of Cougar’s mind, the sniper watched his mirror, who’s finger never wavered on his trigger. Cougar’s lip itched with gathering sweat, knowing without doubts that the other’s gun was aimed directly for his head. _¿Por qué no se dispara?_

Why didn’t he _shoot?_

A better question: Why wasn’t Cougar _moving?!_

Cougar swallowed half-dry spittle and shifted against the tree trunk he was sidled against as the answer came to him in the sight of the other sniper drifting his free hand, gloved in black fingerless leather, down his front and popping the top button of his flares.

_No._

The Hispanic had heard stories like this, of course. In Black Ops you gathered these stories like you did the notches on your bed frame –may the most and best win—but they were things that happened to friends of friends of friends that you’d never personally met or the nebulous ‘someone from x company, I didn’t bother to catch his name’. Most of them were so old that they were more fairytale than proper story, embellished by every year passed in increasingly fantastic ways and told more often than not when the teller was plastered beyond all coherent recognition. But here it was, happening to _Cougar._

His enemy was _jerking off_ while knowingly being _watched._

And Cougar couldn’t look away.

And, a little guiltily, didn’t _want_ to.

_Ciertamente no reciben nada tan bueno de mis compañeros._

Not even Jensen freshly showered and walking about unabashedly with only a tiny face towel for cover was as good as a real triple-x treat. Cougar’s pants tightened sharply, rough like the tree bark over his cock, nothing to protect it from the harsh zipper of his fatigues due to the incredible _wet heat_ that was the jungle. Sweat burned at the corner of Cougar’s sharp, dark eye, and he blinked it slowly away, keeping one eye steadily on the show taking place on the roof top one hundred some-odd yards away.

The sniper’s dick popped from his fly like a monolith rising from the deep, the gloved fist nestled deeply at its base, and rising high above it with a shiny mushroom head winking at its peak. Cougar tried to imagine his own fist in the other’s place, and couldn’t shake the picture of both of his mocha colored mitts wrapped around it and still not covering its length.

A minute shudder rattled his ribs, though there was no other outward sign of the image’s effect on him. His pants were strained against his dick, but Cougar’s hands remained exactly where they needed to: on his rifle –not his gun.

As the other began to stroke, his large, massive really, hand up and down, Cougar felt the whine building in the back of his throat and caught it viciously. The other did his business languidly, dragging softly on the upstroke, hard on the down, just the way Cougar liked it done, when the long-faced man added a quick twist to the head, the Black Ops agent tightened his thighs around his tree branch and forced himself not to pant like a bitch.

The other was smirking, and it glowed dangerously with the refracted red light from his polo shirt, mostly unbuttoned in acquiescence to the heat. _Ay, dios…Santa María, ten piedad…_ The light glittered across the mirror’s aviators and on the underside of his bushman’s hat, and Cougar _purred._

Ten glorious minutes passed, Cougar breathlessly watching the sniper jack away, speeding up, slowing down, cresting to the very edge of endurance with violent pulls and harsh twists and gentle tickles until the whole, long length was bathed in sticky pre-come and the tree-mounted peeper’s own iron-willed control was wavering on a gossamer thread.

It was sexier all the more for the unwavering sight settled right on Cougar –perfectly steady in spite of the other’s huffing breath and grit-teeth, settled, at least in Cougar’s heat-and –hormone fuzzed brain, directly between his eyes and unflinchingly ready to blow him away. Not even the occasional peek on Clay in the showers was going to top this. _Si sobrevivo._

If Cougar survived.

Panting open-mouthed against the tree trunk, sweat running not just into his eyes but down his back and sides and crack of his eyes, burning on the creases of his hips and backs of his knees, Cougar felt the knowledge seep into the cracks of his brain, _his survival was still an ‘if’._ Birdcalls and the smell of damp earth all faded away, the tall man’s hand was losing its steadiness, and Cougar’s legs were squeezing rhythmically around his seat, his senses wheedling down to sight alone, zeroing in through the scope to the bob of an prominent Adam’s apple, trails of sweat he couldn’t but imagine the scent of but he wanted to _lick_ like the big cat he was nicknamed for, and the sight of those two hands, one rock steady on its trigger, and the other, framed with it so _perfectly_ , pulling at an impossible length furiously in uneven tugs accented by unsteadily thrusting hips.

The length had gone dark, bloody red-purple and painfully looking, and Cougar could see the end just before it happened.

A pain bordering sweetness, a sudden stillness in the other’s body outside of that flashing hand stroking long and fast and tight as thick ropes of white jetted up and splattered messily onto the red shirt and all over the hand.  
Cougar whimpers –the first noise he has made during the whole scene.

The other leans down to his scope again, and their eyes meet, Cougar doesn’t know the expression on his face, but the other’s smile turns to a wicked leer, and he licks the semen off the leather of his glove and spreads the arm wide.

_Go ahead, I’m watching,_ it says.

And Cougar, helpless to stop himself removes one and from his rifle to clutch at the tree trunk, still watching the other through a shivering scope, and he hasn’t even tucked himself back into his pants, his softening cock hanging out for all to see. _Ay, dios! …Madre, perdóname, tu hijo vive pecaminosamente._

_…Mother, forgive me, for your son lives sinfully…_

He humps the bark of the tree for an embarrassingly few thrusts and comes without ever undoing his pants, and watches his watcher watch him. His vision blows bright briefly, every glance of light across the other’s sharp beak of a nose and thin curl of shadowed lip flares as though backlit, and slowly, as he comes down from the high, his other senses return.

_::--gar! Cougar!!::_

Bolting upright, Cougar groped frantically for his radio, eyes raking the complex for signs of his CO, “Here, Clay!”

_::Took you long enough!::_ Roque shouts, _::We’re coming out the second floor, window will be marked, be sure to blow it out before we reach it!::_

“Y-yes!”

_::You injured, Cougar?::_ Clay asked suddenly, _::You sound breathless.::_

_Dios, favor no…_

Cougar didn’t answer, and a second later a bright green dot appeared on a second-story window. Cougar hit the window with two quick .22 caliber bullets, and it cracked deeply, then two bodies hurled through it, hitting the ground in a roll. Up and bounding away almost upon contact with the ground, it was only a matter of moments for Clay and Roque to reach and scale the perimeter fence, another stretch of seconds and they were in the cover of trees, and then their pursuers were visible –one man too huge to be real, easily seven foot tall and nearly as broad with arms about as big around as Cougar, carrying a gun that _had_ to have Roque _rolling_ in jealousy, and another bespectacled man armed in a long, pale coat and a sneering frown who was wielding a bone saw like he meant business. The cross on the thin one’s shoulder suggested a medic, the blood splatter on the saw, not so much. Two headshots later both were down and Clay and Roque were about as safe as they could be if the R.E.D. agents didn’t give chase.

Then the mens bodies vanished.

_“¿Qué es eso?!”_

“Neat, idn’t it, mate?”

Cougar was turned around and aiming for the shot before his mind fully registered that someone had spoken to him. There, just on the other end of his rifle, was the other sniper, come still drying on his shirt.

“Oh don’t do tha’, Ah en’t gonna bail you up. You just saw me tuggin’ on me old fella, didn’t yeh?”

Cougar’s lip twitched. There were faint noises that he registered as coming from his radio that were ignored –

“Come on down, then, yeh drongo! Ah said I wassn’t gonna rat on yeh!”

“You are Austrialian,” Cougar said at last, shifting on the branch and wincing at the squish at his crotch.

Two thick brows rose above the line of the aviators, “And you’re Mexican. Wot's your point?”

Cougar glanced back to the compound.

“They en’t comin’.”

“Why are you here, then?”

The bushman had the gall to seem contrite, “You’re more of a beaut than I normally see –you weren’t hopin’ for a little pashing on?”

Cougar scowled as best he could through a shiver of want, “And that means?”

The aussie smiled toothily again, “Just a bit ah kissy, honest.”

Cougar shivered once, an all-over spark that jogged in his spine, and gracefully tumbled from the tree.

He was caught neatly in the arms of the taller man, who smelled intoxicatingly of dust and wheat and gun oil, automatically strapping his rifle to his back. Two legs in battered fatigues wrapped around the other’s waist, their matching arms winding around a thin neck.

Cougar took the other man’s mouth in a wet and mostly toothless kiss, their tongues instead lapping at each other and the insides of mouths. The smaller writhed in the other’s embrace and sucked throatily on his tongue. “Ooh, tha’s it, sweets, careful or I’ll be needin’ another go.”

Cougar pulled back, breathing deeply of the thick air, he pulled one arm back between them, and, meeting eyes with the other, _ojos azules, que guapos,_ he dug his hand through the trails of semen on the other’s shirt, then past his waistband and into the mess beyond it and scooped up a generous amount.

He waggled sticky fingers in front of the other’s bewildered eyes, watched disbelieving pupils blow wide, then sucked each finger into his mouth to clean away the burnished, salty substance.

“Holy dooly,” the Australian said. “Gonna fuck you, now.”

_“Sí.”_

Cougar’s lips crashed into the other sniper’s with bruising force, the taste of gunmetal and salt and a twinge of spicy peppers, and the taller foreigner sank to his knees in the peaty ground and centuries of die-off to lie the smaller down. Each bent instinctively to carefully put aside their rifles, Cougar sucking spots into the Aussie’s damp neck all the while.

One rough hand snaked its way onto Cougar’s scalp, loosening his ponytail and sending itchy fly-aways onto his cheeks. The hand peeled him backwards while the other hand sneaked around the back and fit their hips impossibly tighter together. The tall man groaned happily against Cougar’s smooth neck and ground them together. “Tha’s nice, love.”

The Hispanic man nodded his assent, _“Se quita mis pantalones,”_ he whispered, the light tenor of his voice gravely.

“A’m assumin’ that you want them pants offa yeh, then?”

Cougar offered a rare grin as reply, and was answered by one that showed off a remarkably pointed canine tooth. Cougar did not resist the urge to taste it.

The taller laid the smaller down on his back and yanked savagely at the pants separating him from his goal. _“Dios, sí, me encanta cuando estoy hecho bruto!”_ the words were soft and desperate sounding, but rang true, even as the other manhandled Cougar’s legs up and on a shoulder to make passing the younger’s waistband past the globes of his ass, the sheer vigor of each choppy action made by the man sent a jolt of something hot to the Black Ops sniper’s lower belly.

The wet mess of fluid at the crotch of his pants trailed up to Cougar’s dark mocha knees, dragged there by his pants.

_“Holy Dooly,”_ the Australian repeated, diving down for a kiss that nearly dislodged both of their hats. He reared back at put two fingers to Cougar’s mouth, which took them in without prompting and sucked with abandon. He hissed and whined softly around the digits as the other sniper’s hand, almost more massive than Cougar had imagined, set to work taking Cougar’s cock from half-flaccid to fully erect.

He chewed the fingers in his mouth just barely as the motions he’d seen earlier, that had sent him to orgasm over a hundred yards away through a sniper scope, were now gloriously _felt_.

“Not much of a talkie, are yeh?”

Cougar shook his head, grinning around the other’s fingers, and reached to scoop up some of the semen off his legs, nowhere close to drying in the near one-hundred percent humidity, and wrapped a hand around the length jutting from the enemy sniper’s fly.

The long-haired hispanic’s hand didn’t cover quite _half_ of it, and he hitched up a notch on the finger suction. He was sucking on this other man’s _trigger finger –Dios Mio._

It wasn’t as far as they were going to go, that Cougar knew, but it wasn’t enough, either. He pulled up the arm propping him up, lying fully down in the moistly _hot_ deadfall and joined his second hand with his first around the other’s dick. The other huffed a groan and began to pant.

The Austrailian removed his finger’s from their moist home, trailing spit in strands and unceremoniously asked, “One or two?”

One was better.

_“Dos.”_

Two went in.

“Ah!” Cougar cried out sharply, but bore down then forced his muscles to relax as the Australian stretched him efficiently. Cougar’s legs pulled the other’s body closer, and his hands continued to moisten the length that would soon be inside him with Cougar’s own earlier release and the pre-come now drooling steadily from its tip.

His preparation was quick, barely a minute of scissoring and a cruel search for and abuse of Cougar’s prostate, but by the end the Hispanic was panting hotly into the lanky man’s stubble, missing his thin lips after aiming for a kiss.

_“I am ready,”_ he whispered.

“Awright, ‘den,” the R.E.D. sniper muttered, and drew his hand out and settled it around the back of Cougar’s neck.

The Loser positioned the cock he was holding at his entrance, and guided it on its sticky slide home.

“Y-Aaaahhhhh….” The other sighed.

_“Madre de dios, movese…!”_

Mother of god, was the other big –Cougar had been admiring the unbelievable length, but that wasn’t to say he wasn’t _thick_ , but no matter how wonderfully full he was feeling, Cougar was willing to do a _lot_ if he would just _fucking move, already!_

There was a moment of shifting, it wasn’t enough friction but it settled the pair more closely. The other sniper settled Cougar’s legs, still tangled together at the knee, more comfortably on the one shoulder, moved his own legs further apart to brace, and put his elbows to either side of Cougar’s head, putting the Hispanic man’s lips and neck within easy reach of stubble shadowed lips.

They began to move, heady slides in that became smooth slides out, easy, and Cougar’s arms bent up under the other’s arms to loop hopefully across a sinewy back, he absently wondered if the sweat-soaked flak jacket would give his inner elbows a rash.

Cougar was taking a sip from the wet juncture of his counterpart’s neck and shoulder when the other spoke, “ _Noice_ , is tha’ a Green Hornet?”

Something in Cougar blushed as he moved back a little harder to meet the other’s steady thrust, and answered, “Yes, she is modified for accuracy, d’ough.”

The thrusting increased pace a jump at the dropped “th”, “Ah, wotcha get on ‘er now? Those things is good for a light bulb at fifty yards easy.”

“Good for a light bulb at tree hun’red… _five_ , if it’s _me_.”

They both chucked through groans as their pace jumped again, the slide sticking as friction forced semen and spit to dry, but still moist enough that the catch and drag as of yet still more appealing that uncomfortable. "I once shoot a man's eye out from six," the  Hispanic bragged breathlessly, hopelessly proud in his sex-fogged haze. He glanced at the other's gun, "D'at looks like a Dakota sebenty six," oh he was _gone_ if he was dropping his 'v's, "Longbow..."

“Ah! Yeah, custom job, she is,” their skin was slapping together now, the full full _full_ feeling growing as each punch of the other’s hips forward stuffed him completely and then some, dragging over his prostate and sending waves of cold and hot up and down the smaller’s spine. “Custom Lapua rounds, too. Cost a might pretty penny, but ‘er actions smooth like butter…”

He mouthed up Cougar’s jaw, lipping at stray beard hairs and then grinning madly, “Accurate over a mile distant.”

_Mierda_ , and this man was fucking _him?_

Speech cut off as the other hunched over with a whine and began to hump Cougar like a dog, nearly still save for pistoning, frantic hips. Each forward snap punched breath out of the Hispanic from his double-bent prone position, and also kept a constant barrage of feeling on his sweet spot from within and his own neglected cock and balls, now rubbed thoroughly between his own thighs and shirt.

_Mierda, este hombre es un asesino mejor que yo, que está dentro de mi… lo quiero, lo quiero…ay, dios…_

_“Dios!”_

Cougar came –untouched for a second time in a day for which he might feel ashamed for later, when he had the brain cells—to the thought of the other’s eyes through the scope of his rifle, smirking and unconcerned about the crosshairs over his head. It was the same look he’d given Cougar when he’d slid inside, and the same one he was getting now.

Satisfaction in his superiority that Cougar was too tired to take offense to, nor entirely certain that he _would_ take offense to.

“There, love, tha’s it…jes’ a bit… _more_ …”

The other twisted Cougar’s limp ankles on his shoulders, and racketed up his pace _again_ , even more directly smashing into the smaller man’s overstimulated prostate and sending his entire body into shakes, “Ah! _Ay! Ay! Ay!_ ” the reed-thin cries went unheard, Cougar’s body fighting to bring himself off again but utterly incapable of going stiff after two shots in less than a half hour.

The other sniper curled over him like a creature _possessed_ , “Your tight, love, _perf’ct!_ ”

Impossibly, Cougar’s groin started to warm with arousal for a third time, but _it couldn’t_ , just c _ouldn’t_ —The other man was sucking Cougar’s collarbone through his thin cotton shirt and pulling his hair mindlessly. There was sun streaming in through a hole in the canopy that framed out the hat of the man on top of him, still moving, still inside and _hard_ —

“Aaaahh!”

\--and Cougar felt the hot _splash_ inside himself and whited out.

He returned to himself almost immediately, the R.E.D. sniper still draped over him, the larger man’s arms shivering with the effort of keeping most of his weight off of Cougar.

“Heh, well that was fun!” the other said shakily.

“What was that?”

“Wot?”

“I think I passed out as you came.”

“Really? Ah, I think yeh may want ta look inta tha words, ‘prostate orgasm’, then.”

Cougar looked up at the proudly grinning man, the general sounds of the forest filtering slowly back into his consciousness. The other was as puffed up as a man out of breath could be, and Cougar cuffed him playfully over the ear and said with a smile, “Get off, you are heavy.”

“Oi! I’m not nearly as heavy as Heavy!”

_“¿Qué?”_

“Nothin’, no worries. That your boss on the wireless?”

_¿Qué?_

_::—Cougar, if you are on this radio you had better be dead, I swear to god!—::_

_CLAY._

“Yes! It is my boss! You must leave! _Ahora!_ ”

_::—Cougar, we are in-route to your last-known location—ETA is two minutes, hold on!::_

“Ah, yes, I certainly see the problem.”

They were both up and fastening clothes before more could be said by either of them or the radio, the other slinging his Longbow across his back with a grace that Cougar could appreciate.

_Quiero verlo desnudo, quiero más tiempo con él ..._

Cougar was sad to see him go –he’d not had sex, _good_ sex, in nearly too long to remember. And women, while fair enough to flirt with or kiss, had never roused his appetite enough for more. Desperation was leaning a very pointed edge on the argument that he hadn’t spent nearly enough time with the R.E.D. man, hadn’t even seen him _naked_. Wondered if he had scars and were Cougar could lick them.

The tall man, even taller and lankier in the full of life when Cougar was simply _standing_ with him, turned to him. “Care to follow a mite?”

“Why do you not run?”

The sniper smiled something wicked, “Exactly. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Far off in the distance was the sound of crashing and foliage hitting other foliage hitting the dirt, “Fine, go!”

Much more quietly, the pair of snipers traveled just less than a hundred feet from their last position, Cougar growing warier by the second, and then the other called them to a halt. He brushed deadfall from an abnormally flat square of ground. A circular metal disk was embedded in the ground.

“A tunnel?” he asked.

“Not even close –Cougar, was it?”

“It was, _¿y tú?_ Your name?”

“Don’t have one anymore. Part a joinin’ up,” the other rolled his shoulder, a yellow crosshair emblem on his shoulder coming to light, “just go by our classes, so it’s jes’ Sniper, capitalized like, see?”

Cougar didn’t. “Sniper?”

“Tha’s me, mate! Now, can you keep a secret for me?”

“That depends upon the secret.”

Sniper smiled at the serious response, “This shouldn’t be too hard, then.”

There was a brief swell of red light as Sniper took a step onto the metal, and then he was gone.

" _Mierda_ -mierda _! Maldita sea hijo de puta!"_

Somewhere in the distance Clay was yelling for Cougar to answer, panic not yet in his voice but closing to it fast behind the stoic face of the team CO, slowly growing closer.

Cougar tossed leaves back onto the metal and walked out of the vicinity before yelling, _“Here!”_

Within moments, two figures crashed through the trees. “COUGAR! Why the _fucking hell_ weren’t you answering your radio?!” Clay snarled.

“Look,” replied Roque, pointing, “I don’t think it’s working too good, Clay.”

Clay and Cougar looked to where Cougar’s radio was, hastily clipped to a belt loop. It was soggy, dirt crusted, and had a very obvious bullet hole in it.

_¿Cuándo? When had Sniper…?_

Instantly Clay moved forward and made a visual inspection for wounds. “Who found you?”

“Sniper.”

“You Alright?”

Cougar answered with a nod as he felt jizz drip down his legs and wondered if he smelt like sex.

“Alright, then. We’re going back to base camp and getting _out_ of here. I don’t know what they’re doing, but we retrieved an intelligence case, so maybe Jensen can get a better grip on what’s going on here.”

Cougar nodded again and let Roque have rear point as Clay led them all away.

A month later they were sent to Bolivia to end a drug cartel, and consequently found more _immediate_ problems to worry about.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sorry. Also, I promise I'm the original author and not just somebody with the same screen name. I think most of the spanish lines are pretty obvious within context, but if there is lots of confusion, I'll place translations down here if necessary.


End file.
